


leading the blind

by naruhoe



Series: by your side (i’ll be there) [7]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Masturbation, heavily implied knifecrow, some of that self love ayyyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 01:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18729010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naruhoe/pseuds/naruhoe
Summary: Daud takes some time to himself.(Spymaster!Daud AU)





	leading the blind

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ведущий слепого](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18963220) by [Easy_Owl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Easy_Owl/pseuds/Easy_Owl)



Daud knows full well what he looks like. He's an old, scarred dog that's been kicked one too many times to play nice anymore. By no means is he handsome. Certainly not boyishly- not even classically. Maybe once, when he had less scars and the lines of his face weren't near as pronounced as they are now. But at this point, he counts himself lucky to still have a head of hair and most of his teeth, yellowed as they are. 

At the very least, he's never had to worry about losing his form to old age. After all, he’s never given himself the chance to, but he'd have to be blind or plain stupid not to notice the aching of his joints when he does too much too fast. Used to be that it was a personal insult when someone would suggest he couldn't do something, but now... he'll still put the young pups back in their place when it's called for, but he knows his limits.

Daud knows what he looks like. He knows what he is, and what he isn't; what he has, and what he has not. But there are still days when he can't stop himself from wondering what could've been if he hadn't come to Dunwall, if he hadn't settled. What if there had only been the Knife? No Whalers. No Billie Lurk. No Thomas. No Rulfio. No Jessamine Kaldwin or her daughter. And no Corvo Attano. 

Daud can't see himself as a family man- he has too much blood on his hands for that, but there's always the 'what if' when he's drifting in that hazy state between sleep and awareness.  _ What if?  _  What if instead of a pack of street kids led by a broken, vicious old dog, he'd instead settled down with a wife?

No. Daud cuts his thoughts off there. He, of all people, should know that there is no 'what if'. If not for Corvo Attano's unexpected mercy, his 'what if's would have him lying in a pool of his own blood, if not by Corvo, then at the hands of Overseers, or more likely than that, one of his own. There are no ‘what ifs’ because Daud is here. And Daud is very much alive. 

So when he wraps a hand about himself, Daud does not linger on impossibilities of what could have been. Breath hissing between his clenched teeth, Daud concentrates on the ebb and glow of his own pleasure. It is a pleasure often-denied to him by none other than himself, for Daud is a busy man, or so he tells himself. In truth, there was a time when he believed he would never again give himself the satisfaction of such pleasure. But Daud is a man. Some men are weak, and others choose to forgive themselves these small sins. Daud's pleasure is unconvinced, and burns as brightly as ever. 

His bare palms are calloused from swordplay, and writing, and a thousand other things, but the rough contact of skin against skin, eased by saliva and a small measure of oil taken from the lamp by his bedside, makes him catch his breath sharply.

The sheets tangled beneath him stick to the bare, sweaty skin of his back, but in the moment, Daud pays it no heed, spine stiffening as his hips twitch into the firm grip of his hand. The sound that escapes him is embarrassingly breathy, but Daud barely pays that any heed either, too focused upon chasing the pleasure up its rapidly-dwindling rope. The knot in his stomach is starting to coil in the promise of sweet release. Daud himself is blind, in that moment, both for that his eyes are squeezed tightly shut and that he does not recognize the face forming in his mind's eye, as he takes his pleasure.

There is a handsome jaw, complete with five o'clock shadow, as if they are too busy or just plain unwilling to put in the effort to take a razor to it. The bridge of the nose is slightly crooked, but only adds character for the imperfection of it. The swell of their lower lip is full, perfect for kissing and biting and the swipe of a tongue, but the eyes remain in shadow. 

Daud, muffling a groan against his shoulder, thinks they would be dark, and deep. Of their hair, it is longer than is considered fashionable- perfect for running fingers through, or for grabbing a handful and jerking their head back to expose the bobbing adam's apple of their neck, muscle and sinew thrown into sharp relief.

The pleasure pools, at once syrupy sweet and sharp, twisting at the bottom of his belly. Daud's skin, though naturally pale and paler still by virtue of that he is covered neck to toe in leathers nearly all year round, is flushed red, blotchy about his chest and the base of his throat. The sudden rise of blood to his pale skin causes the scars to stand out, even the most shallow and faded of them standing out in silvery contrast to the ruddy hue of his chest. His face, in particular, mouth open and panting, is also red with blood, and the long scar down the right side of his face seems to burn bright.

Daud's whole body stiffens as he comes, back arching into a surprisingly flexible curve and head tilting back in silent reverie as he spills across his stomach. Sweat makes his skin glisten, illuminating the bow of his collarbones and the sharp sinews of his neck. His eyes remain closed even as he sinks back down to the sheets, only managing a slight grimace when his sweaty back makes contact with the cool fabric. 

There is a moment, just the space of a breath, when Daud appears almost peaceful. In his mind's eye, he begins to notice little details about the face, however, like the scar on their cheek. The cheeks are somewhat more gaunt than he was expecting, the handsome mouth twisted seriously. The long sheaf of dark hair, he realizes, is as familiar as the rest of the face. 

Restless, suddenly, Daud sits up much too quickly and kicks his legs over the side of the bed.

Corvo Attano's face floats in his mind's eye, newly-revealed eyes dark and deep and accusing in the intensity of their gaze. Daud's fists clench, his teeth pressing so hard against one another that he feels his jaw begin to ache. 

He could scream. He could shout. Hell, Daud could pitch a twelve-colour fit, but instead, he exhales a shuddery breath. Impossibilities, he reasons, are things that should not be dwelled on. The room is darker, the floor colder, now that the overwhelming glow of his own selfish pleasure no longer blinds him. Daud bows his head and along with another shuddering exhale, lets it go.

**Author's Note:**

> Is that an E-rating?? Sorry to all of you who may be devoted to canon (canonically asexual Daud), but if you were here for canon, this series may disappoint. That said, I hope you guys had as much fun reading as I did writing this, at least up until the end. Part 7 of angsty angstiness must contain angst. Comments and kudos are appreciated (particularly comments!)!


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